


The Train at Dawn

by Writer_of_Words88



Category: Original Work
Genre: Banter, Blood, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Gun Violence, Halloween Gift Exchange, Horror, Implied Relationships, M/M, Monsters, Original Character(s), Self-Sacrifice, Texas, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26924536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer_of_Words88/pseuds/Writer_of_Words88
Summary: The sleepy town of Bankersmith, Texas has a night they will never forget.
Relationships: Old West Sheriff/Outlaw
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: Canon Ball 2020





	The Train at Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [within_a_dream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/within_a_dream/gifts).



Holt set down the nine of spades with a weary thump. He’d been stuck on that solitaire game for longer than he cared to admit. Not to mention, it’d been bugging him more than his saddle soreness from Betsy, which was saying something. But once the sun had set and the town had settled down with it, Holt had enough peace and quiet to finally think, and he knew his next move—until the door crashed open.

“Sheriff,” cried the intruder. 

A scrawny kid of no more than fifteen raced into the jailhouse. Dust caked his bare feet, tarnishing the bottom of his trousers. He’d left his shirt untucked, flapping in the evening breeze as though he’d jumped out of bed and ran straight to his door. 

Holt bet that either another opossum had crawled into the boy’s attic, or his poor ma had fallen and hit her head again. Either way, he’d have to finish his game later. 

“What’s the trouble, Samuel?” He eased up from the chair, stretching his sore legs. His duster hung on a hook behind him. It needed a good cleaning if he could afford it. He knew he needed some time off to do it, but it’d been a few years since he put his feet up. And well, ever since his deputy had passed, no one had dared signup for the job. Most of them were too afraid the job had been cursed or some other nonsense. So, Holt did it all, best he could.

“It’s ma,” Samuel said, wetting his lips. His eyes darted around the room as though he expected something to jump out at him. He shuffled forward, wringing his hands together. “Please, something’s wrong. She’s not doing well.”

Holt rolled his shoulders, then grabbed his coat. Even as he shrugged it on, he asked, “What about the Doc? Seems more like his kind of thing. She’s not hurt, is she?”

Samuel shook his head. “No, don’t think so. She’s, uh, acting funny.”

Holt didn’t like the sound of that. Poor woman was probably having a fit. Everyone knew she had a bad heart and that it was probably only a matter of time before things took a turn for the worse. He grabbed his Colt, more out of habit, and slipped it into the holster at his waist. “Alright, then. Tell you what, you go get the doc, and I’ll go check on your ma till you get back.”

Samuel nodded, then ran back out the door before Holt could say anymore. 

He sighed, stretching his aching muscles once more, then ambled out into the night. 

The world always changed as the last beam of sunlight left the sky. Things quieted down; people slept. Yet, something more had crept in with the moonlight that night. Something that made the hairs of the back of Holt’s neck prickle.

Before he reached the door to the house, Holt had a hand on his belt near his gun. His hand itched for it. And he’d been sheriff long enough to know when to trust such instincts.

He knocked, then stood listening. Darkness surrounded him in the street. No wind ruffled his clothes, and no streetlamps lit his path. The pale light from the moon above blanketed the world like snow and gave just enough light to breathe life into the looming shadows of the night. His spurs clinked against the dusty earth as he shuffled his feet. He worried that the night wouldn’t prove to be as quiet as he’d first thought. Holt knocked on the door once more. 

It echoed out with the hollow resonance of an old tomb rather than a widow’s farmhouse. His hand slid over his gun. Holt used his free hand to press on the door. It opened. 

A void of darkness greeted him. Nothing glinted in the moonlight beyond the bolts of the door frame. Holt knew the layout. He’d been in there many times of the last several years. Samuel and his ma were good people. But, standing there just beyond the maw of shadows, Holt had no idea what he would find when he passed the threshold. 

He squared his shoulders and stepped inside. His boots thumped against the creaking floorboards. A dank, mildew infested air assaulted him, stinging his eyes. 

He rubbed at them, still not daring to take one hand off his gun. 

The boards creaked behind him. 

Holt spun, whipping his pistol from its holster and aiming it into the doorway. Through the blurriness, he could make out a tall man standing there with his hands up. 

“Rightfully jumpy, dear Sheriff, but if you could not blow me to smithereens just yet, I’d greatly appreciate it.” 

Holt recognized the speaker and lowered his gun. He let out a breath, not daring to say how glad he was for the company. 

“Wayne. Thought you’d be halfway to Mississippi by now. You made a pretty penny off the good folks around here, and I told you I’d have to arrest you for it this time.”

“All in good time, I assure you.” He lowered his hands and stayed standing at the doorway. “But for now, could we put a pin in it? I fear there are much more pressing matters at hand.”

Holt gave him a sideways look that was missed in the darkness. 

“There is a train passing through Bankersmith at precisely half-past four in the morning. You and I _need_ to be on that train.” 

Holt blinked at him. “Oh yeah, and why’s that? Is the famous Gentleman Wayne ready to hang up his boots for good? You know I’m not buying it.”

Wayne did step forward then, daring only a few steps inside before stopping again. “Holt, this isn’t,” he hesitated, and Holt could almost see him picking at the sleeves of his coat. “I understand that our…relationship has been rocky at best, and well, delicious at the worst of times, but this time is different. I,” he paused, taking a deep breath, “I’m begging you. Come with me. I’ll explain everything once we’re on the train, but we haven’t a moment to lose. You can even tell that scrawny boy where I buried all that money if you want, but we must go _now_.”

Holt didn’t like that. Holt didn’t like that one bit.

He couldn’t recall a time he’d see the notorious outlaw so shaken, despite his calm demeanor though that was his way. The more serious the matter, the more soft-spoken, the taller man became. He licked his lips. “You do know what you’re asking me, right? You know I can’t just up and leave these folks here. Tell me what’s going on.” He stepped forward and took Wayne’s hand, squeezing it. 

Wayne jumped, obviously not adjusted to the lack of light or possibly the action but didn’t pull away. “Holt, please don’t make me repeat myself. You know how it irks me to…to beg.”

“I know,” Holt squeezed his hand once more, then released it. “And that’s why we can’t go off on whatever venture you’ve planned. You already know I won’t abandon these people. So, why don’t you just tell me what’s going on, and we’ll face it together?” 

Wayne gave a bitter chuckle. “Loyal to a fault. I think that’s what I’ve loved about you the most.” 

Holt didn’t respond. They had never before come out and said such open things to one another, despite the years and years of chase between the two of them. He could spend all day thinking about their times together, sometimes he did. He’d let his mind wander over their banter, their game of daring the other to overstep some invisible line between them. One that dared the other to be too much of a crook or too much of a lawman to take the other seriously. Instead, things had always been different between him and Wayne. And there he was, standing before him, begging him to run. Whatever had him spooked him; it wouldn’t be something to take lightly. Holt worried that it might be “Machine Gun” Kelly himself, which meant they were in a heap of trouble. However, Wayne had always assured him that he worked alone. 

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Do you have to make things so darn difficult? I know you don’t have faith in the almighty, but we’ve always…” Holt let the rest remain unspoken. Both he and Wayne knew what they were, but they both also knew what they were beneath the damn farse they played as well. 

Wayne huffed out a breath. “I can’t simply”—Creak.

They both turned and eyed the boards above them. 

The house had a second story with bedrooms. It must’ve been where Samuel’s ma was resting. 

“I need to check in on Eileen. Wait here if you want or at the jailhouse. I’ll be back.”

Wayne swore, then eased up behind Holt. “I always knew you’d be the death of me, you daft man.” 

Holt smiled, then stretched out a hand, searching for the wall. 

Creeeeeeeeeeeeak.

Another board groaned above them. 

“Eileen,” Holt called, and Wayne jumped behind him, latching a hand onto the back of his coat. Holt hesitated. “Wayne, we took on the Kacey gang together, and you ran in there like a mad man. What’s gotten into you?” 

When he didn’t answer, Holt cocked his gun and continued. “Eileen, it’s Sheriff Holt. Samuel got me. He’s worried about you.”

Silence deafened the old wooden house. 

Holt found the wall, almost knocking over a picture frame. He shuffled forward in the direction he thought he’d find the stairs. Sweat beaded under his clothes, sticking his shirt and breeches to his skin. Wayne cocked his own gun and kept a hand on Holt’s duster. 

“If you shoot her, I will chase you out of town for good,” Holt whispered as they crept forward. 

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

Holt grumbled, then felt the corner of the wall. They had found the stairs. He inched his foot up, searching for the next step. His boot gave a light thump as it landed on the bottom step. 

A soft whisper cut through the silence. 

“Hear that?” Holt asked. He listened a moment longer. “Sounds like singing.”

Wayne tugged on his duster, then grabbed for his arm. “We need to leave _now_.”

Holt did not like being kept in the dark. Wayne was scared, but there was no reason he couldn’t just come out tell the man what was going on. “Wayne,” he grumbled, then paused as the whispering grew loud enough for him to pick out the words.

“ _I can see you,_

_I can see you,_

_I can see you falling down below.”_

Holt didn’t recognize the song. The words sounded a bit strange to his ears. It called to him like a lullaby, fluttering by his eyelids and weighing down his already weary muscles. 

“ _I can hear you,_

_I can hear you,_

_I can hear you broken where the piling bones grow_.”

It was Eileen. Her raspy voice sounded more strained than usual. She must’ve hit head bad, but at least she seemed awake. Holt took another step up, and the singing grew louder.

“ _I can smell you,_

_I can smell you,_

_I can smell you painting the dusty earth sanguine.”_

Holt felt the last step up the stairs before he’d realized he’d gone so far. Warning bells blared in the back of his mind. Something was wrong, very wrong. Wayne’s grip hadn’t lessened on his arm as they turned toward the far bedroom. 

_“I can taste you,_

_I can taste you,_

_I can taste your fear between my pointed grin.”_

Moonlight coated the room in a bone-white glow at the end of the shadowed hall. It smothered out the warmth and left a frozen stillness in its wake. Samuel’s ma sat on the edge of her bed in line with the open doorway. 

Holt stepped forward, and the singing stopped. 

Wayne’s grip tightened to a near painful degree. His hands trembled, sending shivers down Holt’s arm. It was more than some trigger-happy crook coming to rob the town. It was something darker. Something that made Holt look twice for in the sweeping shadows. His blood chilled in his veins, prickling his skin down to his feet. 

“We should go,” Wayne hissed.

Eileen lifted her head and screamed.

Her body exploded out. Gnashing teeth and too many arms peeled out from under ripping skin. Blood splattered the walls and stained the white bed linens. She rose with her arms twisting out in all directions, knocking over the dresser. Her claws sliced through the sheets and ripped apart the feathery mattress.

Holt stood frozen in terror until the eyeless monstrosity twisted its jagged head toward them. “Run,” he snarled, then unloaded his Colt onto the hellish beast. 

The gunshots thudded through the air. All six shots hit the creature in the chest, sending it stumbling back onto the bed. 

Holt gasped out a breath. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. Then, the creature stirred, rising on its many limbs. 

Wayne tugged him toward the stairs, and Holt let him. 

They fled down the staircase, almost tumbling at the end in the pitch-black room. A shriek pierced the air, rattling through them down to their bones. 

Splitting wood erupted from upstairs. The creature was coming for them.

Holt snatched Wayne’s arm and scrambled for the door. 

THUMP!

Something slammed into the floor at the base of the stairs.

Moonlight gleamed in through the open doorway, enticing them to freedom.

Holt dragged them over the furniture and through the doorway, slamming the door behind them. He flicked open his gun, shoving six more bullets inside. 

“What the fuck was that?” Holt turned a hard gaze to Wayne. 

“Later,” he panted, adjusting his well-trimmed coat. “We should resupply at the jailhouse and start heading for the tracks immediately.” 

Furniture crashed against the walls inside.

Holt and Wayne backed away from the door, both aiming their pistols at the closed doorway. 

A ringing clanged out into the still night. 

“The church bell,” Holt glanced at Wayne. “There might be more of these things in town.”

Wayne licked his lips, then nodded once. “I suspect we will find ourselves outnumbered by daybreak, dear fellow.”

A handful of townsfolk fled into the street. Their wide and confused stares settled on Holt. He cleared his throat. “Get yourselves to the church,” he called. “I’ll catch up with you shortly.” 

Holt reached into his pocket and grabbed a key, then thrust it into Wayne’s hand. “Empty the safe; I know you know the one. We will need the weapons. I’ve gotta get these people to safety.”

Wayne stared at the key, then whispered, “There is no such place. Not with these things.”

“Dammit. Well, then what are they? Seems like you’ve seen them before.”

The door rattled in front of them. 

“Once, yes. In the gold mines in California. I barely escaped with my life. But I doubt we have the time for that story.”

Holt aimed his gun at the door and shoved the key into Wayne’s hand. “Any way to kill them?”

Wayne grimaced before shoving it into his coat pocket. “Not that I know of. I never thought they would follow me this far.”

Holt spared a glance in his direction, then refocused on the door. 

Wayne turned, heading toward the jailhouse when the creature burst through. An ear-splitting roar ripped out into the stillness of the night. 

Holt shot twice, then threw himself to the side. His heart pounded in his chest as the thing emerged into the moonlight. Claws raked through the dirt where he’d been standing. Screams from straggling townspeople cried out from behind him. He shot the abomination once more. But it turned toward the chaos and the cries for help. It shrieked out as it lunged for the scampering few remaining. 

“Run,” Holt shouted, aiming his gun once more. Three more bullets struck the creature before his gun clicked empty. 

Still, it lumbered forward with teeth-gnashing ready to tear into innocent flesh.

Holt ran forward, unsure of what he could do except for tackle the hideous monstrosity. But few choices remained. 

A dozen shots rang out over the shrieks from the terrifying demonic beast. It staggered to the ground before reaching the terrified people. They coward next to the empty saloon. Its lights were out for the first time in years. 

“Get to the church,” Holt shouted and glanced toward Wayne. He stood further down the street, brandishing two pistols. The barrels smoked in the evening stillness, tainting the air with a bitter hint of gunpowder. 

The creature stirred again.

Holt raced to Wayne’s side, reloading as he ran. He glanced at the straggling couple, making sure they made it to the gates of the church. “I thought I told you to go for the safe.”

Wayne kept his eye on the wheezing creature, struggling to stand once more. His hands trembled as he reholstered one of his guns. “We have known each other for what, ten years now. Don’t you think I can tell when you’re bluffing?”

Holt couldn’t hide his small smirk. “Wasn’t a bluff. There really is a safe.”

Wayne huffed out, then grabbed for more bullets. “And I know the sole purpose of that contraption is to distract me while you do something stupid.”

“That’s not its sole purpose. And I’d like to think of it as heroic.”

Wayne finished loading one gun, then switched for his other. “As I said, stupid.”

The creature wheezing out a faint shriek and staggered back up again. 

Holt blasted it with another bit of lead. “Let’s get to the church.”

“If we must,” Wayne clicked his gun shut, then turned with Holt.

They made their way up the dusty road and through the wooden fence of the churchyard. Lantern light beamed from the windows as nearly fifty people had packed themselves into the rows of pews. The church had been made to house the entire town if needed; however, probably not with the intent of sheltering people from rampaging creatures with possible demonic roots. 

Holt didn’t have time to pray about it or read up on the unholy beasts. All they could do was hope the church could withstand the demons at their doors as well as it did with the dust devils.

He and Wayne scrambled through the door.

Women and children huddled together near the center of the room. Many were crying or praying in a close circle. The men had migrated to the edges of the large room, most glancing out the windows. Sister Kendrick stood near the podium at the far end of the room. She was speaking with Doc and Samuel, and all three turned as Holt shoved the door closed behind him. 

“That’s him,” shouted Doc and pointed a finger at them. “That’s the no-good heathen that’s brought this wrath down upon us!”

Holt bristled and stalked forward around the huddling women and children. His gaze had fixed on the older man. “Want to run that by me again?”

“That man there,” Doc snarled, pointing a finger at Wayne again. “Here’s the reason those, those things are here. He’s brought down God’s wrath upon us.”

Holt narrowed his eyes. “Unless you want to find yourself face first in a horse trough, I suggest you keep your trap shut.” He glanced at Samuel and Sister Kendrick. Both seemed much more composed than the doctor but didn’t seem eager to defend Wayne either. Not that Holt could completely blame them. They didn’t know Wayne like he did. 

“No one here’s done anything to be responsible for whatever the hell is out there. Got it?” 

Both the Sister and Samuel nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly. 

Holt continued, “If anyone starts blaming people, I’m throwing them out myself. We aren’t going to be divided, not now. Not while those things are still out there.” He’d raised his voice, hoping the rest of them would take the hint. 

“Yes, sir,” Samuel said, finding his resolve. 

Sister Kendrick rested a hand on his arm. “We’re with you, Holt. You know Doc’s had a rough night; we all have.”

Holt gave her a sidelong look. 

“Come now. We are all God’s children. And are you telling me that you’ve never once wondered why none of us have called for a hanging?”

Holt raised an eyebrow at that. It wasn’t as though hangings were common in their town, but perhaps the people had had some leniency with him. 

Sister Kendrick gave him a wink and whispered, “It’s really no secret, Holt. Let’s be honest, after Wayne’s first escape, it became clear that you had a soft spot for the charming man. So, don’t worry. I’ll keep the flock at bay during our troubled times.” She patted his cheek. “Now, why don’t you and Wayne go fetch some bread and cheese from the back room, and I’ll see what I can do about the tempers in here, alright?”

Holt stood staring at her, dumbfounded. He’d been so sure up until then that anything between him and Wayne had been hidden.

Howls erupted outside. 

The children cried, and the men unholstered their guns. 

“Go on,” Sister Kendrick prompted. “I’ll get them settled.” She hurried over to the huddled group, whispering comforts to the young ones.

Holt steered Wayne toward the storage room. Two lanterns hung on the wall, bathing the room in soft light. Once behind the door, Wayne adjusted his coat. “I _do_ know my way around here, despite what you may think.”

Holt rolled his eyes, then started opening cupboards. The pair stayed quiet for a moment as they searched for the provisions. Holt cleared his throat. He should probably say something. But did they have time? 

“I,” Wayne said but hesitated, “Holt, I want you to know that, well, how much you mean to me, dear fellow. All these years together, I mean.” He gave a light chuckle. “I know I was a terrible excuse for a criminal mastermind at times, yet it didn’t take much to realize that, well, I didn’t mind because of you. It was…nice to pretend to be your nefarious villain like from the radio shows. There was such a thrill.” He smiled and took Holt’s hand, squeezing it. “I suppose what I’m getting at is that our years together have been the best years of my life. I hope you know that.”

Holt blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “What are you saying? Why now?” He swallowed back the lump in his throat. “You make it sound like…” He wasn’t sure he wanted to say the words aloud. 

Holt remained silent, then turned his head, listening. His heart pounded in his chest, and it was the only sound he heard. “I don’t like this”—the lanterns flickered out—“Shit! Wayne, I think we’ve got company.”

Wayne took a deep breath. “I can see you.”

“What? I’m not blind, am I? What the _hell_ is going on?” Holt dropped the bread and drew his Colt. He cocked it and stared into the darkness, listening.

Wayne stepped forward and thrust his gun against Holt, letting it slip from his grasp. Holt snatched it before it fell and felt around for Wayne. He couldn’t hear over the pounding in his ears. “Wayne,” he hissed. He found the outlaw’s hand and held it close to his chest. “I won’t let them get you, dammit! Have faith in me, in _us_.”

Wayne’s voice came out in a warble, “ _I can see you…_ ”

Holt jolted as though his veins were filled with ice water. “No.”

“ _I can see you falling down below.”_

Holt’s cheek burned as hot tears spilled from the corners of his eyes. He took a shuddering breath; then he heard them—the other room filled with screams. 

“ _I can hear you. I can hear you.”_

Their time had run out. 

_“I can hear you broken where the piling bones grow_.”

Shrieks pierced out into the night, and nails dug into the wooden walls of the church.

“ _I can smell you. I can smell you._

_I can smell you painting the dusty earth sanguine.”_

Holt continued to hold his hand. He dropped his gun and pulled him close. “I’m here. I’m here, Wayne.” He gripped Wayne and held him tight. “We’ll do this together, like always.”

_“I can taste you. I can taste you._

_I can taste your fear between my pointed grin.”_

A lone locomotive chugged passed the quiet town of Bankersmith just before dawn. And where there should have been two lone figures darting over the dusty hills and making their way into one of the cars, there were none. 


End file.
